


Daughter of the Tower

by kerithwyn



Category: Dark Tower - Stephen King, Fringe
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-09
Updated: 2011-05-09
Packaged: 2017-10-19 05:24:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/197382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerithwyn/pseuds/kerithwyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Olivia's father, on (two, four) levels of the Tower.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daughter of the Tower

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cereta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cereta/gifts).



  
**Daughter of the White**

  
(Roland, Will, Thomas) (Deschain, Dearborn, Dunham) stands in two worlds and holds his baby daughter. He sees how long the road stretches in front of her, how perilous. His blood compels it. Given a choice he would not have condemned a child to his fate, but ka works as it will. Ka, he has learned after too many turns of the wheel, cannot be denied.

He has been granted--not necessarily as gift--a glimpse into what she might be.

Over there he sees a woman a shade too much like him for easy contemplation. She is quick and strong, and she carries a gun with an ease he recognizes. She shoots with her eye and her mind and her heart. Like him, she lacks patience and her impulses will not always lead her to the right fork of the road. Her mistakes, like his, are world-shattering in scope. She will stand at the center of her world's crisis, perhaps the reason for it, and whether she holds or breaks may well be its salvation or destruction.

Over here he sees a woman he would not, in all truth, have taken for his own kin. He sees the signs of the Touch in her, like in Alain and in Jake, and if that were all he would be content. More troubling, her talent mirrors that of the breakers, those in the service of the Crimson King who corrode the beams that hold up the Tower. For one brief, terrible moment he considers breaking his own child's neck so that she can never be used so. But her ka is not in his hands and he can see in her a glimmer of a possibility: a breaker who turns the power on itself, healing instead of destroying. For that chance alone, her life has value beyond measure.

He doesn't have long (there, here), much as he might wish for more time in this relatively peaceful world. Within three, perhaps four years the (gunslinger, lover, soldier) will be called again to battle. He will fight, he will fall, he will vanish and be listed as missing in action, wiped from the skin of the world and into another life. Most likely he will not remember this daughter. She will remember him only as a presence, and by the door he will paint red. Not the color he might prefer, but one that will stick in his child's mind and perchance serve, one day, as a beacon home.

His daughter, Olivia of two worlds and all worlds, will be the pivot of her world's turning. He can only touch her tiny forehead and wish her well, and hope that she finds true companions along the way to ease her journey.

Gan willing he will meet her again, to see all her promise born into light.

 

* * *

  
 **Daughter of the Red**

  
(Randall, Walter, Richard) (Flagg, o'Dim, Dunham) stands in two worlds and holds his baby daughter. He sees how long the road stretches in front of her, how deliciously perilous. His blood compels it and he would have it no other way. This is what he came here to do, father a daughter of fate for his master. For the Crimson King.

He has been granted--so generous a gift--a glimpse into what she might be.

Over there he sees a woman who carries a gun with an ease he recognizes. She shoots with her eye and her mind and her heart. For one brief, glorious moment he considers breaking his own child's neck so that she can never raise her gun against his cause. But he also sees that her hair is red, a symbol to her true allegiance, an agent of chaos. Her choices are world-shattering in scope. She will stand at the center of her world's crisis, perhaps the reason for it. She would not be the first gunslinger, after all, to remember the face of her father.

Over here he sees a woman who might, in the end, prove the most potent breaker in any world. It thrills him to have created for his master so powerful a gift. He will turn her over to the magicians--the "scientists" of this world--so that they may begin to nurture her talent and bring it forth in full crimson glory. He can see her path full of horror and heartbreak, betrayal and disappointment, and these can only harden her heart and make her a fitting tool for the King. It might even be her power that finally breaks the beams, and for that chance alone, her life has value beyond measure.

He doesn't have long (there, here), nor does he wish for more time in this insipidly peaceful world. Within three, perhaps four years the (plaguebringer, magician, killer) will be called again to battle. He will fight, he will fall, he will vanish and be listed as missing in action, wiped from the skin of the world and into another life. Most likely he will not remember this daughter. She will remember him only as a presence, and by the door he will paint red, as a sign to the other servants of the Crimson King that one of their own dwells here.

His daughter, Olivia of two worlds and all worlds, will be the pivot of her world's turning. He can only touch her tiny forehead and bid her to mind the path, to keep to the purpose she is intended to fulfill.

He does not care to meet her again, save to learn what destruction she has wrought as a herald of the dark.

 

{end}

**Author's Note:**

> This came together much faster than expected. I'd been giggling about the Fauxlivia-gunslinger/Olivia-breaker thing when the (cracky) part about Roland occurred to me--because what do we know about Olivia's father, save that he was someone of importance on the military base in Jacksonville, and that he painted the door of their house red. I wrote the first part and sat on it awhile, not sure it was done...and the red door kept gnawing at me. And then entirely out of the blue I realized that while Roland wouldn't be at ease with that color, another father would be. It's nice when fic falls into place so neatly like that.


End file.
